


leave the soul alone

by freehugsforfandom



Series: these bare bones [1]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anxiety, M/M, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-02
Updated: 2013-10-02
Packaged: 2017-12-28 05:41:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/988370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freehugsforfandom/pseuds/freehugsforfandom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire, innately, knows.</p>
<p>(well, depleting his lungs of oxygen shouldn't be a regular thing, but somehow it has become a part of Enjolras's life)</p>
            </blockquote>





	leave the soul alone

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Bones by MsMr. Heed the trigger warnings.

_Titles were purple. Definitions were green. Names were blue. Dates were red. Details were black. Locations were orange._

Grantaire was white light – nothing and everything, there and not-there, a clean space between scribblish handwriting and coffee stains that let him breathe. He was a ghost but a hand on his own shaking wrist, eyes that chose not to see but watched anyway.

_Six am to seven am – morning jog. Seven thirty am to nine am – political science theory study. Nine am to twelve pm – economics revision. Twelve pm to_

There are three precise taps on his door and he knows exactly what will happen within the next minute without looking up from his notes. Grantaire will wait a few moments, then curse under his breath and scramble around in his jeans for the spare key he was given after last time. Then he’ll enter the apartment, smelling of paint and apprehension, chest rising and falling staccato because _he knows_. Grantaire, innately, knows.

If Enjolras was breathing normally he’d shake his head fondly and murmur his thanks.

_Next assessment is worth 20% of the overall grade for the semester therefore you must achieve at least 98.8 in order to gain a satisfactory grade and if you don’t get a satisfactory grade we’ll have to do something we’re not proud of, Enjolras._ You’ll _have to do something_ he _can’t be proud of._

Tea is simple to make and easy to drink and it’s placed on top of his notes with a muted, definite thud _(isn’t that some kind of metaphor for his life – for fuck’s sake he’s turning into Prouvaire)_. Then his chair is being spun around and there is a smile – a soft, scared smile. He isn’t sure why there’s a smile when there should be a frown. Surely he’s being a disappointment? Because there are so many things he has to do and just enough time if he keeps to his schedule. But no, he’s sitting there, vulnerable to time, with ants crawling over his raw skin and a bird fluttering frantically against the prison bars of his ribs.

The smile falters. Enjolras understands why. He’s failing at the small things and soon that’ll turn into the big things and his life will crumble, piece by piece, shattering and falling and he’s flown too close to the sun so his wings are melting and it’s just

“Enjolras. Enjolras, breathe with me. Shh, it’ll be okay. Come on, in –"  _one, two, three_ “and out. Yep, that’s it, you’re doing really well. Can you do another for me?”

His lungs rattle, his eyes open their shutters, and slowly Enjolras can see Grantaire crouched before him. There are moments where they breathe together, paced and constant, so exact that Enjolras finds a sense of calm within it all.

Grantaire’s smile is back after an indeterminable amount of time, a little less tentative and soft with relief. “Hello again,” he reaches out a hesitant hand, and when Enjolras nods, he places it on his knee and squeezes. “You want to talk about it?”

“Not really,” Enjolras replies, dropping his gaze. Now that the hot, heavy cotton wool has been torn away he feels an acute sense of shame. Grantaire bites his lip, seeing the worry returning to his partner’s eyes.

“Hey, it’s okay. Do you want to go outside for a sec, get some fresh air?”

He almost lets his protests scratch past his pursed lips – surely he can’t, because according to his schedule he has to continue writing his major essay and that’s something he _absolutely can’t miss_ , right?

But then Grantaire shifts his papers around and clears a path to where his assessment dates are written. _Essay – due 17 th September. _A month away.

Enjolras swallows. “Can we watch a movie or something?”

“Yeah, definitely,” Grantaire’s grin widens and he jumps to his feet, quickly making his way over to the bed and flopping onto it with as much grace as a blind seal. “What’ve you downloaded recently?”

And so it is that Enjolras can stack his notes neatly in the corner of his desk and forget they exist for two hours. He can afford to let himself go to time and let that white light chase away his doubt.

He can breathe.


End file.
